Camera Obscure
by A.A. Pessimal
Summary: In which the sick, sad, world heaps more casual indignities upon the head of Daria Morgendorffer, Princess of Snark. This time a digital camera is intimately involved.
1. Daria has a problem

_**Daria – in "Camera Obscure"**_

_The animated series "Daria" was an extremely well-observed and almost always funny look at family life in the USA. Focused on the kids at Lawndale High School and especially on the Princess of Snark, Daria Morgendorffer, it dealt with the universal currency of growing up and being teenage. It didn't matter if you'd never been to an American high school or if your own educational experience was as far removed as it was possible to get – the experiences of Daria at Lawndale High evoked familiarity and "I've been there" feelings in anyone, anywhere. Especially the feeling of being too intelligent to fit comfortably – Daria's dilemma. I'm now of an age to see it from the point of view of the adults in the show. The burnt-out teachers, the Dibbler-like school principal, and above all, Jake and Helen Morgendorffer. Helen the workaholic, Jake overshadowed and hypertensive, secretly fearing he is redundant. In the long tradition of American screen families – the Bundys, the Simpsons, the Griffins, the Hills - they're utterly dysfunctional, but manage to work something out in the end. Just like the rest of us, really. _

_Here's a go at something in the Daria canon. I'm assuming the action happens in the middle-to-late 1990's, so I've tried to make allowances in terms of the technology and gadgetry available. I'm pretty sure the first – big, clumsy and expensive – digital cameras were available then... one is crucial to this story. So apologies if I've introduced an anachronism. _

"Class assignments!" said Mr O'Neill, enthusiastically. The thirty or so students in his class looked on with their usual stupefied disinterest. Despite his best efforts to inspire them, nobody wasted any interest or enthusiasm in his class. At Lawndale High School, there wasn't a great deal of that to go round. What little you had, you guarded carefully, and kept for things that interested you.

It is perhaps a telling point of Mr O'Neill's personality that after twenty years as a professional educator, he is _still _trying to inspire enthusiasm in his classes. And nobody wanted to disappoint him. It would have been like kicking a puppy: the kicker would only feel guilty about it afterwards, especially when they looked into big brown eyes full of pain and bewilderment.

"Now before I hand out a list of suggested tasks, there's an announcement from the Principal. Ms Li was reviewing practice at this school. She has noticed that when it comes to partnering up for shared assignments, the same people always pair up together, like Kevin and Brittany, or Daria and Jane. She would like to shake things up and get different people working together."

There was a groan from the class. Daria Morgendorffer sat up a little straighter and her eyes narrowed slightly. She liked working with Jane Lane. Daria provided the brains and the intellect, Jane contributed creative drive and imagination. She looked round to see Jane scowling. Their joint work and presentations usually scored "A"'s all round. It was an arrangement that suited them both and they saw no reason to change it.

"I'm sorry!" Mr O'Neill almost pleaded over escalating groans and protest. It had overtones of a sheep trying to negotiate with wolves. "It isn't my decision. It really isn't."

"I was only obeying orders, huh." Daria said in her usual flat monotone. Her facial expression remained impassive. If Daria Morgendorffer could be bothered to play poker, she would soon discover that she could be frighteningly good at it. Mr O'Neill reddened and winced, but otherwise tried to ignore Daria's barb.

"Now I've tried to work out the fairest possible allocation of new partners..." the hapless O'Neill continued. A crescendo of objections drowned him out. He waited for it to subside, and said "Look, when you leave school and go out into the world and get jobs, you will find yourselves working alongside people you wouldn't choose, and only associate with because you work with them..."

He was interrupted by Ms Li, the principal, walking in. She beamed a snake-oil seller's smile. Daria and Jane shared a look. Ms Li taking a personal interest in things was never good for _anybody_. Anywhere.

"As Mr O'Neill has informed you," she said, "we are changing the usual protocol concerning group work. It will stretch you more to work with new people, it will be good for your communication and co-operative skills, and as Mr O'Neill so wisely said, in real life you will not be able to pick and choose the people you work with. You have the list, Mr O'Neill?"

He nodded, cleared his throat, and then read the list. It was worse, much worse, than Daria or Jane could have imagined. Muted groans rose as the assignments were handed out.

"Kevin Thompson– Jane Lane."

Jane shuddered and grimaced.

Daria was just about to say something when...

Daria Morgendorffer – you will work on this assignment with Charles Ruttheimer III."

Daria's jaw dropped and her mouth opened wide with alarm.

Of all the people. Of all the possible people.

It had to be Upchuck.

* * *

Charles "Call me Chuck" Ruttheimer III. A guy with unshakeable and rock-solid self-confidence. A guy who believed in himself. It was just a shame that most of the time, this was expressed as an unshakeable belief in his personal and sexual desirability. Even so, this would not have been a problem and might even have been desirable had he actually _been _physically attractive, or, failing that, pleasant of personality.

This unshakeable and rock-solid self-confidence had one flaw. It was housed in the rather scrawny and weaselly body of Charles Ruttheimer III. The guy nicknamed "Upchuck" by his female contemporaries. It was shorthand for "this guy makes you want to chuck up your breakfast." Shortening it to "Upchuck" saved time and energy.

Upchuck was... well, a walking leer. A lech. Daria had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't just undressing you with his eyes, he was _also_ putting you in every uncomfortable and unedifying position known to the editors of "Hustler". With his eyes. And he was physically scrawny. Freckles fought the acne for room on his face. His long angular rat-like face was topped with a mop of carrot-red hair. Daria reflected that it was unfair to condemn someone for not being physically attractive, since you had no control over the genetic lottery that selected your parents and gave you your looks. But in this case you had to add in all the things that made Upchuck Upchuck. And which threatened to make anyone in close proximity to him upchuck. Therefore it wasn't unfair to consider him a total jerk. Nature gave him his face. Nurture had made him obnoxious.

And Daria was now stuck in a situation where she had to work closely with him.

She sighed. This was going to cause problems.

"Growwwwllllll!"

She winced. It was coming in very close to her right ear. Upchuck was no respecter of personal space. That was irritating as well as uncomfortable.

"Well, _hello_, feisty lady!" Upchuck breathed into her ear. He thought it was a low seductive whisper dripping with hormones; Daria knew it to be like fingernails scraped down the blackboard of her personal space.

And, yes, he was doing that thing with his hand again, pretending he had talons extended and was scratching at a post. Whatever it was meant to achieve.

"You know that makes you look like a tomcat in heat scratching at the furniture?" Daria inquired. "Next stop for you might be the veterinarian."

"Rowlll!" Upchuck said again. He was not easily deterred. In fact, Upchuck was _never_ deterred. He dealt with refusals and rebuffs by simply ignoring them. She wondered why he felt he had to do that. And he had this irritating quirk of making a double eyebrow-raised gesture when he did it. The two caterpillars perched above his eyes – she guessed she had to call them eyebrows, for want of a better word – were trained on command to jerk up and down twice whenever he did the "rowlll!" thing. And he always said...

"Feisty!"

Daria's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. Upchuck did not spot the danger signs. He went on, with completely misplaced self-confidence,

"So we're study-buddies, huh! When do I get to see your personal space and the inside of your boudoir?"

Daria stared at him, levelly.

"Let's get this straight, Upchuck. We're working together on this one because we _have_ to.. We're keeping it professional, Upchuck! That means you only get to see my bedroom if it's a snowy day in Hell. And if I ever invite you into my bedroom, then Hell is _exactly_ where I'll be!"

"GrowwwwLL!"

"Don't push it, Upchuck!"

* * *

Daria kept a picture of the airship _Hindenberg _ crashing in flames on the inside of her locker door. If anyone asked her why, she directed them to the iconic accompanying quote: _"Oh, the humanity!" _

Family mealtimes always reminded her of the crash of the _Hindenberg _in fire and flames. Especially if her father had been cooking. Jake Morgendorffer tried to compensate for a frustrating working life, and for the fact he brought in far less money than his wife, by treating cookery as a serious hobby. The fact he really wasn't any good at it was his tragedy.

Daria wondered which of her parents was cooking that night. If it was her father, then it was likely to be _cordon burnt. _If it was her mother,always assuming she wasn't working late again, then it was going to be something from the freezer, nuked in the microwave. In either case, she'd probably end up down the pizza house with Jane to get some sort of minimal sustenance inside herself.

"Hi, Daria!" said a perky voice that, to her, was irritation personified. Her sister Quinn joined her at the kitchen table. Had you asked Daria to provide a list of ten things she hated about her sister, the response would have been a narrowing of her eyes and a comment like "That's kind of limiting it!" or "Why stop there?"

Quinn was a couple of years younger than Daria. The age-gap provided for lots of sibling rivalry, ample room for petty irritation, and _lots_ of scope for occasional humiliation. A natural attention-seeker, Quinn was elfin and petite with a long oval face, a button nose, perfect 20-20 vision that eliminated the need for glasses, and long, fine, red-golden hair. She affected crop-tops that left her navel exposed, and she _knew_ she was pretty. She exploited her winsome charm for all it was worth, and was disingenuous enough to deny any responsibility for the fights she provoked and the hearts she broke.

Daria was of the opinion that after she, the older sister, had been born, the Morgendorffer gene pool had been left in a pretty shallow state with most of its content extracted. This explained Quinn.

"Hi Quinn." she said, with a certain world-weariness. She then endured her sister's ongoing soliloquy concerning school, Fashion Club, the sheer number of guys trying to ask her out, and what do you think, Daria, Jerry's got a Mustang but Brad says he can borrow his father's sports car, it's an imported British MG, and apparently those are retro but really _cool..._

Daria tuned her sister out. Quinn's conversation was like a Moebious strip; it twisted and turned around a predestined path and always returned to the place where it started. Eventually.

"Daria, you're not_ listening _to me!_"_

"Was I meant to be? Let me see now. You've got Jerry and Terry and Brad pursuing you, you complain about it but you secretly like the way they fight over you and compete by buying you presents. This other guy has car X and this _other, other _guy has Car Y, and you're agonising about which is the coolest to be seen in. Mr O'Neill is being a jerk because he persists in giving you D grades. And that's on a good day. You're in competition with Sandy and the other clones in the Fashion Club over who's most tuned in about the important things like clothes and make-up. And that's on a good day. You see, I can follow your conversation without even listening. It kinda sinks in, like osmosis."

"Os-what?" Quinn squeaked. Daria winced. Without looking up, she said "Osmosis. It's a science thing. Think of it as like expensive face-cream."

"Well, at least you think clothes and make-up are _important_!" Quinn pouted.

"Hi, kids!"

"Hi, Dad!" said Quinn.

"Dad." said Daria, without looking up. She picked up a newspaper. There was a re-run of _Sick, Sad World_ on later. Something to watch when she was over at Jane's. Jane would paint. Daria would chill out while she painted. It was a strong friendship with somebody only marginally less cynical than she was, and probably with the second or third most intelligent person at Lawndale High.

Jake Morgendorffer was on the high point of his cycle: superfically cheery and ebullient. Daria knew or sensed what this masked. Her father listed his occupation as "business consultant". In practice this meant well-paid but precarious work at the mercy of the whims of his employers. It was like a better-paid version of temping, Daria thought, only not for minimum wage.

In practice, the Morgendorffers depended on the income of Daria and Quinn's mother, Helen. She was a company lawyer who on the face of it pulled in a big salary, enough to buy into an upmarket suburb like Lawndale. But the downside was that she seemed to think this obligated her to be on call for twenty-four and seven. Daria had done the math. Her mother's pay would have been way over average salary had it _only_ been for a standard thirty-five hour week. But the way her mom made herself available to Eric at any unreasonable time of day... well, divide that high salary by one hundred and sixty-eight, the number of hours in a week.

This made her mother's pay little more than the minimum wage. But she got really mad every time Daria pointed this out. The only time Helen Mogendorffer had worked less than stupid hours – in fact, had worked her contracted thirty-five _and_ had the whole weekend free – had been when Eric had had a heart attack, brought on by continual grinding overwork.

Her mom had gotten mad when Daria had pointed this out too and drawn the obvious parellel. Daria largely refrained from commenting these days but held the remark in reserve, in case a family fight ever got to DefCon Three.

But her father still felt second-class, insecure, and inferior, next to a wife who earned way more than he did and who had a secure job with a fully-funded 401K and health insurance.

This insecurity came out in the downside of the Jake Morgendorffer cycle, as irrational fits of anger and rage. It blew itself out, and Mom was largely sympathetic, but Daria still braced herself for it, even though she'd learnt to tune it out. It really didn't help that her father had let slip on several occasions that he was disappointed at not having fathered a son.

And Dad was cooking, his way of trying to compensate for Mom's late nights at the office, his way of giving something back to the family.

He was just appallingly bad at it.

She tuned out the increasing frustration and burning smells coming from the cooker, punctuated by cries of "DAMN IT!" . Quinn shrugged, and returned to her absorbtion in _**Waif **_magazine, a publication with few, but easily understood words, and lots of pictures, largely associated to glossy advertising for expensive clothes and accessories. Quinn didn't mind not eating: Daria sometimes suspected her sister was either anorexic or a practitioner of the Supermodel diet. **(1)**

Helen Morgendorffer returned. She greeted her daughters warmly, and briefly frowned at the burning smell.

"What are going to try and eat tonight, honey?" she called.

"Chicken Kiev a la Jake Morgendorffer!" he called back, trying to make his voice sound cheerful.

Helen knew the form. Resignedly, she reached for her purse.

"Here's five dollars each." she said, in a low voice. "Get something to eat when you go out tonight."

"Thanks, mom!" said Quinn. "But could you make it ten?"

"Likewise." said Daria, quickly. "If Dad's doing Chicken Chernobyl, I'll need some pepto-bismol as well as pizza."

Helen paid up with good grace.

As the burnt offering reached the table, Helen cheerfully asked

"What did you two do at school today?"

Daria sat through her sister's blasé commentary on the doings of assorted would-be boyfriends and the intricate trivialities of Fashion Club. Her mother eventually turned to her, expectantly.

"We got landed with new study partners for class assignments." she said, reluctantly. "Miss Li noticed we always choose the same people, so she decided to improve things by randomly pairing us up. Look out for a high body count by the weekend."

"Daria, do not even _joke_ about such things!" her mother said, indignantly.

"So I wasted lots of cash on the long black leather coat and the repeating rifle? _Damn. _I'll ring Jane and tell her the random killing spree is called off."

"Mom!" Quinn said, in a high-pitched wail. "Daria's frightening me!"

"And, mom, I'm sorry to have to do this to you. But I've been assigned Upchuck as a study partner. I'll try to keep his visits here to the absolute necessary minimum. But he's gonna have to come here to collaborate with me."

"_Ewwww!" _shrieked Quinn. "Upchuck? _Here_?"

"Now I _know_ the Ruttheimer parents." Helen said, firmly. "I'm sure a lot of the things Charles does are just part of an act. Just a face he puts on. I'm sure in private and out of school we can get him to drop the act and we can see him as he really is. I'm sure there's a decent young man in there, if only he stops pretending to be something he isn't."

Daria sighed. When her mother was frantically trying to convince herself and others of an unlikely proposition, she put on her courtroom attorney face. It stood out a mile.

"If there's a decent young man in there, he's long since died for lack of sustenance in a deep dungeon cell, alone and in the dark." Daria said. "Mom, when Upchuck was little, even his imaginary friend refused to be seen with him and walked off the job!"

Jake Morgendorffer joined them at the table. He had picked up not enough of the conversation.

"What's this, hon? Daria's got a boyfriend? Good for you, kiddo!" her father said, exultantly. "You're bringing him over to see us?"

"Dad, can we get it straight? Upchuck has been _forced_ on me. He is in no way, shape or form, a boyfriend!"

"You're going _out _with him? Even for you, Daria, that is _gross_!" Quinn declared.

Helen frantically tried to change the conversation. She brought out a large, bulky, black object. It shone with the enamelled black and silver trim of _expensive gadget. _

Despite herself, Daria was intrigued.

"What's that, mom?"

"It's one of the new digital cameras!" her mother declared.

"Can I see?" Jake said, enthusiastically.

"They do away with film. The picture is stored in a teeny computer chip..._be careful with it, Jake! It isn't mine, they cost thousands, it belongs to the firm! _I had to take photos to confirm a few details of the Mannington case. Which is where I need you girls, as I assured Eric I could put them in the family computer and print copies for the file and the court. One of you must know how to do it?"

"I'll give it my best shot, mom.!" Daria assured her mother. One of the computer geeks at Lawndale would know. In any case her mother had thoughtfully brought an assortment of discs and operating manuals and cables and leads with her.

Pushing aside a partially eaten Chicken Chernobyl, she said

"That's me done. Thanks, dad. I'll be at Jane's. How soon do you need those photos, mom?"

She left her father, who appeared to be in the middle of a David Bailey or Man Ray fantasy, and gratefully slipped out to walk round to Jane Lane's and a sensible, sane, intelligent, person she could talk to.

* * *

_That's it for Part One: there will be lots of digital camera related shenanigans in Part Two._

_All together now: La la la, la la..._

**1(1) **The supermodel diet: after eating, bend over the toilet bowl and insert fingers into back of throat. A size zero figure is practically guaranteed.


	2. Candid Camera

_**Daria – in "Camera Obscure"**_

_**Part Two.**_

_Continuing something in the Daria canon. I'm assuming the action happens in the middle-to-late 1990's, so I've tried to make allowances in terms of the technology and gadgetry available. __(witness Helen Morgendorffer's unfeasibly massive cellphone, the size and weight of a housebrick.)_ Update on digital cameras: the first working version was created in 1975. But they were not on general consumer release much before 1994-96. I'm also researching to see if an acronym widely used today to describe a woman of a certain age, look, and personality type was in vogue in 1996. If not, then can we credit Charles Ruttheimer III with coining the phrase?

_I have tried to use American English spelling and expressions throughout, as Daria is an American girl thru and thru. It would just look odd in my native British English. If there are any lapses into British English – apologies! _

Jane Lane wasn't so much painting on the canvas as stabbing a short-bristled brush into it, repeatedly and viciously. Brush abuse was a sure sign something was annoying her – usually her weapon for dealing with the world was an amused cynicism, one that even empowered her to poke gentle fun at Daria when her friend was taking things way too seriously.

Daria, sprawled on the bed, was watching her friend paint. They had intermittently been talking about the day's events and the appalling selection of study partners. Specifically, they were racking their brains to finesse the order and find a way around it.

"So you get Upchuck." Jane said. "Tough, huh? All I get is knowing I'm going to be Ground Zero for Brittany's insane unreasonable jealousy. For some time to come. And Hell hath no wrath other than a cheerleader scorned."

She stabbed at the canvas again. It looked like a caricature of Kevin Thompson the star quarterback, but drawn as a low-browed neanderthal dragging a big club. Daria had to admit Jane had captured his usual cheerful but vacant smile to perfection. Kevin was depicted as dragging a large-breasted blonde cheerleader by her hair. Brittany, his girlfriend, had been depicted as a Wilma Flintstone character dressed in animal furs.

"And Kevin Thompson has the IQ of a tapeworm." Jane added. "A concussed tapeworm. On Nembutal. I'm going to be babysitting him through this joint class paper."

"So we all have our troubles." Daria said, laconically.

From a room nearby came the sounds of Jane's laid-back brother Trent working up a new song for his band, Mystic Spiral. The sound of a guitar being indifferently strummed and Trent's voice intoning made Daria feel uncomfortable. She was hung up on Trent, adoring his coolness, his inability to be perturbed by anything, and the fact he was prepared to treat her as someone worth knowing. She also knew he was a feckless, irresponsible, fundamentally lazy, dreamer with ambitions that out-paced his actual talent. Unusually for Trent, the song was almost tuneful: it sounded like an old standard to which he was adding new, Mystic Spiral-suitable lyrics.

_I'm getting buried in the morning!_

_Ding-dong the funeral bells will chime! _

_Oh, I'm in the coffin** (1)**_

_Embalmed and full of stuffin',_

_So get me to my grave on time! _

She eventually returned home. Her mother looked troubled.

"Daria, honey," she said, in her best "_do me a really big favor_" voice. "your father tried to connect the digital camera to the home computer, but he couldn't _quite_ manage it."

Helen Morgendorffer's face took on the sort of put-upon look her daughter recognised as "your father has just been in one of his little moods." Her father's "little moods" involved red-faced incoherence and high-volume low-level swearing. Daria found it embarrassing, entertaining and a little bit scary, by turns.

Daria nodded.

"Twenty bucks." she said. "Plus a loan of the camera."

Her mother hesitated.

"Hey, I come cheaper than Marianne!" she said. Marianne was her mother's secretary, PA and dogsbody, who had been called to the Morgendorffer home before when Helen was working late. And Marianne was paid by the hour.

Her mother nodded, wearily, and opened her purse.. Taking the cash, Daria went to the home computer and got to work. She did what her father had failed to do, which was to read the manual properly first. She nodded, and loaded Program Disc One. Then she entered RUN D:/ and listened to the computer buzz and whirr and click. Daria had learned basic computer skills back in the day when the discs really _had_ been floppy and almost the size of old-fashioned seven-inch singles.**(2)** Now they were encased in hard flat plastic boxes, three inches or so on each side**(3)**. It was a hell of an advance.

She ejected the disc, with a satisfying clunk, and ran Program Discs Two And Three, then re-started the computer.

"Dad?" she said to her father, who had been moodily sulking in a corner, somehow blaming his failure to understand computers on Daria's grandfather. Jake slouched over.

"This is important, dad. I have just downloaded the program discs..." she paused, and simplified things so a parent could understand. In a "talking-to-parents" voice, she translated her own words.

"The computer has been introduced to the camera. They are now best buddies. Every time you link them with this cable, which plugs in _here_ and _here_, you can look upon it as their shaking hands. Now if I hover the mouse arrow over _this_ button on screen, and click twice, it will begin accepting the photographs Mom took. It will store them as _jay-peg images._.. it will glue the photos into this album, also called a _folder_, which I am going to name "_Helen M's Lawyer Stuff_" so she can find it again. You can create new photo albums very easily..."

Daria decided not to go into the uses of Microsoft Paint and PhotoEditor to touch up and enhance pictures _just_ yet. She _would_ show it to Jane, though, together with a barbed comment about this sort of thing rendering conventional art obsolete even before you graduated High School. The thought made her content and she even smiled slightly.

She watched the pictures download to screen for the pleasure of the intrinsic experience; they were all of a building that was suffering from severe structural damage, and were meant to be shown to a jury, in a case where a builder was being accused of negligence and passing off shoddy construction materials. After the fourteenth shot of crumbling and cracked concrete, she lost interest and went to autopilot.

Finally satisfied her father had got the idea, she went to bed.

* * *

Helen Morgendorffer took the absurdly expensive camera to the bedroom with her, so as to keep it where she could see it. Quinn had been pestering to use it for Fashion Club photos, and much though she loved and indulged her younger daughter, she wouldn't put it past her to "borrow" and possibly damage the device. She went into the bathroom to go through her pre-sleep routine and change into a nightdress. Dressing-gowned, she returned to the bedroom, checking on the way for noise from both daughters' rooms. Satisfied they were both asleep, she joined Jake, to find him playing with the camera again. After copying her photos to the computer and preparing a back-up on disc – Helen was pleased Daria had been so thoughtful – her daughter had cleared the camera's memory to free up the drive for new pictures.

"Jake!" she said, reprovingly. "Put that _down_, will you? You might break it!"

"I got a better idea, honey!" her husband said, exuberantly. She sighed. Jake, in the throes of enthusiasm, tended to bounce around like a big un-housetrained puppy. Then he either lost interest, or got frustrated when things didn't turn out perfect first time. And when Jake Morgendorffer got frustrated, half of Lawndale got to share it.

She half-smiled as Jake aimed the camera at her as she shed her dressing gown, prior to getting into bed. She had the gratifying thought he was taking an interest in her, of the sort that had been largely absent from their lives. She frowned slightly. Having kids kinda took the edge off some aspects of married life. When she and Jake had made the mistake of saying they thought it was time to try for a little brother or sister for the girls ("Or a _brother_!", Jake had emhasized) , Quinn had regressed by about eight years and had gotten very, very, _needy_. The thought had occurred to Helen, much later, that Quinn had been deliberately trying to sabotage things and ensure her parents were never left alone to try for another baby. Daria had been unmoved, apart from saying that she _still_ wanted the going rate for any babysitting, plus dirty money for changing diapers. **(4)**

"You remember the old camera, hon? The one with film in, that you had to take to a drugstore for someone else to develop? That's why you wouldn't let me take any photos of you on holiday that year in Palm Springs, you said you didn't want anyone else seeing you even in your underwear."

Despite herself, Helen struck a pose, aware her husband was photographing her. She heard the click of the shutter and saw the flash. It felt kinda _good. _Kinda_ liberating. _

"Hon!" Jake said, with breathless excitement. "After what Daria showed me earlier, we can cut out the middleman! Nobody else needs to see these shots – just me and you!"

Helen, slightly giddy with the realisation her husband was taking an interest, that right here and now she was something more than Mom and ATM issuing money on demand to two daughters, something more than Helen Morgendorffer, Attorney At Law, giggled.

"Oh, _Jake_!" she said in a breathy low excited voice. Helen favoured short nightdresses in sheer pink fabric. For forty-two... _no, for thirty-seven!... _she still had a good body, maybe a little bit wider round the hips, but her legs were still good. As her husband indulged a glamour photographer fantasy she didn't know he harbored, she stuck a pose, smiled seductively, and let a strap of her nightgown slide down her arm.

After a while, the nightgown was balled up and thrown to one side...

_I sure hope he remembers to delete these photos, _a tiny worried voice said inside Helen's head. She thrust it to one side, enjoying the moment.

* * *

Daria was awoken in the middle of the night by an influx of light and the sound of somebody coming into her room. The door closed behind the someone. She raised her head.

"Daria? You awake?" said a voice. The harmonics suggested somebody fearful and a little bit revolted at something happening that was outside her comprehension.

"Quinn?" Daria said. "You having that nightmare again? The one where you're fully dressed in a crowded place, and everyone's pointing a finger and laughing at you because you're wearing last year's styles?"

"I'm _scared_, Daria. Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"You _are_ having that nightmare, aren't you?"

Daria groped to her right and switched the bedside light on. Her sister looked haggard and woebegone, with big dark circles under her eyes. Without asking, she came over and sat on the bed, looking like a dried-out drowned puppy.

"It's Mom and Dad." she said, as if it was a struggle to get the words out. She leaned forward and whispered, horrified, "Daria, they are _doing it! _They're doing icky things! Somebody ought to tell them they're too old to be doing that! They're _parents_!" She almost wailed the last part.

Daria sat up, looking impassive.

"And your point is?" she asked.

Quinn wailed.

"Daria, they are_ doing it_! They're... _having sex_!"

Quinn shuddered with utter revulsion and loathing.

"They're married. They've got a licence to practice. Get over it." Daria said, coolly.

"_Daria ! !" _

Only Quinn could enunciate two exclamation marks. Sometimes, in her sister's opinion, she got up to three.

"They're entitled. Look, go back to your own room and go to sleep!"

"Daria, you don't have a bedroom that backs onto theirs! It's _horrible_!"

Daria sighed and weighed it up. She wasn't against her parents having what could only be described as parental relations. It wasn't her business. But, if only on aesthetic grounds, she would not want to lie in bed in the next room being forced to listen. Some things your mom and dad did, you just did not want to dwell on.

"OK, get in." she said. Quinn scrambled gratefully into her sister's bed.

"Thanks, Daria!" Quinn said.

"That's ten bucks for a bed for the night and five for breakfast."

"_Daria!"_

* * *

The next evening, Upchuck came over for the first joint study session. Quinn pointedly made herself scarce. Daria wondered if she ought to invite him over more often. Then she reflected that the cure could be worse than the disease.

Her parents had been unusually mellow at breakfast that morning, coming down a little later than usual. There had been no argument or bickerings of any kind, and they had even exchanged words of genuine affection. Even Quinn had said that might be worth the previous night's _icky_ goings-on. But her parents, her actual _parents... Ewwww! _Daria quietly appreciated, although she felt it wouldn't do to let it show.

And that evening, they had evidently made a special effort to be welcoming to Upchuck. Incredibly, he'd been shy, diffident, even, and had been on his best behavior. He didn't make a single innuendo nor a leer in the direction of _any_ female, including Quinn.

"You see, Daria?" her mother had said on the way out. "Charles can be a really nice boy, after all! I think you judge him too harshly!"

"Thanks, Mrs Morgendorffer." Charles had said. "And may I compliment you on being turned out so elegantly? I'm really surprised somebody as young-looking as you has two daughters!"

Damn him, Daria thought. Upchuck's strength was a sort of greasy articulacy, an ability to put words together, albeit in an oozing, oleaginous, manner. In front of an audience, he bloomed. Lawndale High recognised this by having him narrate lucrative paying events, or commentate on shows like the Bridal Pageant, or the Mother-Daughter Fashion Show. And in this case...

Helen Morgendorffer blushed slightly. She wasn't used to compliments.

"Call me _Helen_, Charles! After all, Jakey and I are friends with your parents!"

"Are we?" Jake said, surprised. Helen kicked his ankle.

"_We are, Jake!" _she almost hissed.

Then after they'd gone off to dinner and he and Daria were alone, Upchuck surprised Daria too, by demonstrating he was well-read and knowledgeable concerning the subject they were jointly presenting. The evening went professionally, without a hiccup, and Daria reflected that perhaps she might have done him an injustice: out of school and away from the need to pose and pretend, Upchuck could be incisive, professional, diligent, and genuinely apply himself to work.

Then, when they were taking a break for coffee and cookies, the daytime Upchuck reasserted itself, like some sort of inverse vampire.

"I gotta hand it to your mom, Daria." he said. "She is certainly one fine MILF. Yessir! _Growwwl_!"

"Upchuck, what the Hell is a MILF?" Daria asked. "Some sort of French pastry?"

He told her. She shuddered, inwardly. Was that how guys viewed her _mother_? Her actual _mother_? On top of last night, it was hard to take in... she applied herself to work, reasoning that the sooner it was done, the sooner Upchuck would be out of her close proximity.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._

**(1)** Do Americans call it a coffin? Sorry for the Anglicisation, but I couldn't think of a rhyme for "casket".

**(2) ** Ask one of your parents, or maybe a grandparent, about 45rpm seven-inch singles.

**(3) **Ask your parents.

**(4) **Daria's actual words had been "Just because I'm gonna be its big sister doesn't mean I'm gonna babysit for free."

_POSTSCRIPT – The term "MILF", according to scholarly sources, appears to have been widely used no later than the middle 1990's. Some evidence occurs for its limited use beforehand, although the two main methods of transmitting the acronym into the everyday language of millions from 2000 onwards were (i) via Internet porn; and (ii) via the film **"American Pie". **So maybe Upchuck was a pioneer after all..._

_For any truly naive people out there who have lived a very sheltered life or are innocent of the murkier corners of the Internet, "MILF" is an acronym for "Mother I'd like To..." yes, indeed. _

_Dedicated to Tracy Grandstaff, who for so long contributed that wonderful, deadpan, voice of Daria Morgendorffer. Her voice made the character!_


End file.
